


Folie a Cinq

by sullenhearts



Category: The Academy Is...
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullenhearts/pseuds/sullenhearts
Summary: Mike Carden point of view fic as TAI get back together to play a few dates. Set in Jan - April 2018.





	Folie a Cinq

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this at the end of last year, I wanted a TAI reunion fic so decided I'd better write one. In it, TAI are asked by Wentz to get back together to support FOB on eleven dates in Europe, in April 2018. I've faffed with it all year and decided to get it done before 2019. 
> 
> I didn't look too carefully at the current lives of TAI, because it felt a little too much like stalking, so any mistakes there are with canon are completely mine and I'm sorry but I hope the reasons are understandable.
> 
> Title taken from the FAll Out Boy song Folie a Deux, obviously. Because just maybe the madness that made TAI work took all five of them...

When it comes, the call comes from Bill himself. That’s the first surprise. Mike always imagined that when it came – if it ever did – it would come from Sisky, acting as a go-between once again. But no, Mike’s in the supermarket with an empty cart and a list when his phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and can barely believe that the words flashing up say “William Beckett”. The last time Bill called him Mike didn’t even have a smartphone and everyone in his contacts was just under one name. If he remembers correctly, Bill was in as ‘Bilvy’. 

Fucking long time ago, man. 

He answers. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Bill says, sounding… pleasant. A little nervous maybe? “It’s Bill.”

“No, yeah. I got that. It came up on my screen.”

“I didn’t know if you had my number anymore.”

“Sure I do,” Mike says, trying for easy. “What’s up?”

“Pete called me,” Bill says. “He asked me if The Academy Is would support Fall Out Boy on the world tour next spring.”

Mike pulls the phone away from his face to check that this isn’t actually a very elaborate wind up. “For real?”

“For real.” There’s a weird noise which Mike realises is Bill rubbing his hand over his face or something similar. “Eleven dates on their European leg. England, Germany, Belgium…”

“Shit,” Mike says. “What did the others say?”

“I haven’t talked to anyone else yet. If you’re not in, no one’s doing it.”

“Yeah? Thanks, man.”

“Welcome,” Bill says, aiming for lightness. He doesn’t quite get there. 

Mike takes a deep breath. “What do you think?”

Bill pauses. “I think…” he says eventually, “I think that if there was ever a time, it might be now?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Everyone is… settled.”

“I guess. What difference does that make?” Mike pulls his cart out of the way of a woman choosing bell peppers. “I could take some time off in the spring.”

“Cool,” Bill says. “Do you have any idea for –” 

“It’s gotta be Chizzy,” Mike says vehemently. “It’s gotta be.”

“Okay. Let me talk to Adam about the whole thing, okay?”

“Sure.”

“We can talk about it more, yeah? All of us.”

“Yeah. Kind of feels like we’d have to.”

They say goodbye and Mike puts his phone back in his pocket, drops his list and nearly bangs the cart into a woman’s ankles. His mind feels blank. If there was ever a time, is it now? 

*

Bill calls back a day and a half later, by which time Mike has worked himself into such a frenzy that he can barely focus. He’s gone round and round in circles talking about it to Sarah. What does she want him to do, he asks, but she resolutely shakes her head and tells him that this is his decision and no one else’s.

So then he gets to thinking that maybe no one else will agree. Sisky and the Butcher live in Milwaukee and they’re settled, but they also don’t really talk about the past or hang out with the same crowd anymore. Either of them could tap out, and if one does the other will too. You can’t have a band without a rhythm section, obviously. 

Then there’s Michael. If Chizzy is out, will Mike really not do it? Michael isn’t integral to The Academy Is in the same way Sisky and even the Butcher are, but he was still there for a pretty long time and for a lot of really good times. Mike just _wants_ him there more than anything. Besides, he can’t think of a single person they could ask to step in. 

Maybe the band could work as a four piece. Maybe he and Bill can step up and switch between rhythm guitar and lead. That feels okay. 

So when Bill calls Mike has pretty much decided he’s definitely in if Sisky and Butcher are. 

“They are,” Bill says. “They both seemed pretty up for it.”

“Cool,” Mike says. His stomach didn’t drop this time when he saw Bill’s name come up on his phone. He feels pretty calm, actually. He and Bill are working towards a common goal again and that is something that they generally know how to do. 

“Adam says you can go stay with them in Milwaukee, so we’ll set up some practice space and shit, okay?”

“And shit,” Mike teases. “Sure.”

Bill laughs, just a little, just a softening. It feels nice.

“What about Chiz?” Mike asks. 

“Well, I called him.”

“That’s not good news, is it?”

“It’s not bad news either,” Bill says. “He’s thinking about it.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s just happy where he is, you know? Living in Aus, playing with United…”

“Okay, but it’s not like it’s a long commitment, is it? We’re not getting back together to record and tour. It’s eleven dates.”

“Like I said, he’s thinking about it.” 

“You think I should call him?”

“Maybe? I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“I will.”

“We’re looking at the last couple of weeks in January for practice, okay?”

“Sure thing.” 

When they hang up, Mike looks at his phone for a little bit, scrolling through his contacts until he gets to Chiz’s number. They talked a few months back, but not for long and not about much that really mattered. When Mike got married Chiz had sent a message, which was the last time they’d been in touch. 

He doesn’t press call. He could, and it would be fine, they’d talk and exchange pleasantries, and maybe Mike could talk about the band and exert some pressure on Chiz, and Michael would probably agree more readily because he always took Mike seriously in that regard. But honestly? If Chizzy’s gonna do it, Mike wants it to be his decision and no one else’s. 

*

Mike arrives into O’Hare in the middle of a snowstorm, one which set in suddenly just as they flew over Iowa and which made the landing a little unsettling. Mike’s stomach turns a little but he’s not sure it’s just from the turbulence. He has his guitar in hand luggage but has to wait for his case, and while the carousel turns Mike feels like this could be ten years ago, this could be 2007 all over again. He turns, half-expecting Bill and Sisky to be waiting behind him, looking for their luggage too. 

Mike doesn’t spend a lot of time looking back. He’s not really someone for nostalgia or wallowing in the past, but for the past week, since Bill called, it’s been hard to do anything but. So it feeling like ten years ago only adds to his general anxiety. He’s glad when his case finally appears and he can finally head outside. 

Sisky is waiting in the short term car park, wrapped in a denim blue hoodie and a huge scarf. He’s leaning against his car with the key dangling from his fingers. “Santi,” he says carefully when Mike is fifteen feet away.

Mike breaks into a grin and goes the rest of the way to hug Sisky hard. “How’s it going?”

“Better for seeing you, Mike Carden.” 

“It’s real good to see you too, man.” Mike loads his luggage into the back of the car and slides into the front seat. 

Sisky starts some music playing before he pulls out of the parking space. 

“The Mamas and Papas,” Mike says, nodding appreciatively.

“You’ll feel right at home, huh?” Sisky says. He leans to fiddle with the heater. It clunks into ‘on’.

“How old is this car, man?” Mike asks. “Fuckin’ older than you are.”

“Don’t speak badly about my car, Mike Carden.” Sisky strokes the steering wheel. “I love it.”

“It’s gold.”

“It is Desert Sunset,” Sisky says.

Mike laughs so much he can’t breathe. “It’s fucking gold, and it’s fucking old, and I think the heater is blowing cold air at me.”

“Oops.” Sisky fiddles with the controls again. “So how about this, huh? The old band, back together? Weird, right?”

“It is. It is weird.” 

“You feeling okay about it?”

“Sure. Are you?”

“I think so.” Sisky taps along to the music for a few beats. “A lot of shit changed, I think.”

“Of course it did. That’s life. You gotta live it man.”

“I am, I am living it.”

“How’s work?”

“It’s amazing.” Sisky breaks out into a huge grin. He works for a non-profit organisation that helps teenagers who have dropped out of school or been excluded. “We’re refurbishing the kitchen, right? All hands on the deck, it’s so cool. I had thirteen year olds laying floor tiles. Plus Butcher is gonna come and do the outline of a mural on the dining wall, right? So that all the kids can help to paint it. We’re currently in discussion about what the mural is gonna be of.”

“What are the choices?”

“Well, I think about half of them want an underwater scene with a big mermaid…”

“Yeah, yeah that’s pretty cool.”

“I love it,” Sisky says. “It’s chaotic and noisy and heart-breaking, but they’re all worth it. I love it so much.”

“You deserve that,” Mike says. “You know?”

“Thanks,” Sisky says lightly, and turns to smile at him. 

Before long they’re in the suburbs of Milwaukee, driving along wide streets with wide sidewalks and open yards. Kids are playing on scooters and tricycles, avoiding snow piles. It’s pretty nice, but Mike doesn’t miss the snow. Just as Sisky turns into his driveway, a hooded figure on a bike cuts in front of them and turns first. The Butcher. He pulls a bandana down from around his mouth, revealing a huge grin. 

“As I live and breathe, Mike Carden,” he says when Mike gets out of Sisky’s car. He drops his bike on the lawn to come over and hug Mike hard. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m so good. You? You look good.” 

Butcher is wearing shorts and Mike can see a hundred new tattoos down each of his legs. Butcher’s face has a few wrinkles now, giving away the fact that he’s not twenty-five anymore, but thirty-five, like a real adult. Mike laughs.

Butcher laughs a little. “You look good too man. Married life suits you.”

“Yeah? Thank you. You gotta come meet Sarah, yeah? Both of you.”

“We will,” Sisky says. “I keep saying I want to drive the Pacific Highway on vacation, man. Take our time and just watch the ocean.”

“I’m literally just off it,” Mike says. “Next summer?”

“Maybe,” Butcher says. He takes Mike’s guitar while Mike steers his suitcase and they all head inside. 

The house is cool and dark inside. To the right is a living room with wide, low couches in it. A bass guitar adorns the wall. The stairs are decorated with photos going all the way to the second floor. Mike can see some of himself, and he’s pretty sure that while Butcher took most of them, a few of Tom’s have sneaked in too. He wants to walk up every step and scrutinise each photo, see which ones he recognises. He’ll do it later.

They go through to the kitchen, which spans the entire back of the house. On the left is a big table with six chairs around it. The kitchen is slate gray and white, but the fridge is huge and red like a vintage one. 

“Cool fridge,” Mike says. 

“I found it,” Sisky says. “It spoke to me and I brought it home.”

“It’s huge,” Butcher says. “We had to move just to fit it in.” He goes over to it. “You want a soda, Mike? I think we have, like, coke? And grape soda?”

“You got a beer or something?” Mike says. 

The air goes still. 

“You didn’t know I got sober?” Butcher says. 

“Sure, I knew that. I just didn’t know you didn’t…” 

“Alcohol makes him an asshole,” Sisky says, looking grim-faced at the Butcher. “We don’t keep it in the house anymore.”

Mike wonders what happened there, what the story is. He looks from one of them to the other, but Butcher just shrugs a bit. Sisky raises his eyebrows. Okay then. No beer.

But the next day Butcher goes out to his studio at noon, and Sisky and Mike wander over to the grocery store a few blocks away, and Sisky picks up a six pack of beer.

“Is that okay?” Mike asks.

“We can drink ‘em before he comes home, right? Three each?”

“Definitely.” 

They load up on chips and snacks, and walk back over, taking care to not slip on the icy sidewalks. At Sisky’s, he brings out bowls for the chips and pops the caps on two bottles of beer.

“Thanks, man,” Mike says. He sits on the sofa and waits for Sisky to sit next to him. They browse Netflix for a while and settle on Peaky Blinders, which they’ve both already seen but chat about while it’s on. It’s pretty easy, it feels like they’re back in the same rhythm they used to sit in. Still, the two of them never really fell out, although Mike would’ve assumed Sisky was on Bill’s side just because of their history. But he doesn’t feel like there’s the weight of anything behind their words. It’s good. 

“I dunno how much you know about what happened…” Sisky starts, his thumb rubbing over the edge of the label on his beer. 

“I don’t really know anything, Sisk,” Mike says gently. “I was pretty much out of things, yeah. I still am. I don’t know much of anything.”

“How has that been for you? Being out of it?”

“Honestly?” Mike looks at the mirror above the faux fireplace. “It is exactly what I needed.” 

“Seems like it. You seem a lot happier.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. It was pretty clear that by the end of the band you were kind of over the whole thing.”

“Adam…”

“That wasn’t meant to sound as harsh as that.” Sisky tries for a smile but it fails somewhere on his face. “But, you did seem just kind of done with it.”

“I needed some time.”

“In California.”

“In California,” Mike nods. “College, girlfriends, some normality, you know?”

“It sounds nice.” Sisky fiddles with the label on his beer again. 

“Tell me about the Butcher,” Mike prompts carefully. “About being sober.”

“Okay, yes. So, like, maybe he did drink a lot on tour, right?”

“Sure.”

“But everyone drinks a lot on tour, right? You start early, you finish late, and then you do the exact same shit the next day.”

“Sure,” Mike says again. “I don’t think Butcher ever drank any more than the rest of us?”

“No, exactly, neither did I.” A pause. “But then, like, the band ended and he kept on drinking like he was still on tour? I ignored it for a couple years. I was busy with Bill and we weren’t living together, right? It was okay.”

“Right.”

“Then I lost my place in Barrington and he said I should move in.”

“Made it all official.”

“Made it all official,” Sisky nods. “So then it became evident. Just how much he was drinking. And when he drinks he gets violent.”

“He hit you?” Mike is shocked. 

“He never hit _me_ ,” Sisky says. “Just things that were, like, adjacent to me.”

“Man.” Mike draws the word out but it feels inadequate. 

“He’s apologised. It’s okay.” Sisky peels a strip of paper off the bottle’s label and rubs it between his fingers into a ball. “He quit, eventually, but…”

“I get it.”

“Yeah. Painful in the middle. And I guess we both thought he could handle just drinking like a beer or two, but, well, he can’t. And it seems unfair to keep alcohol in the house so I just don’t.”

“I get that, too.”

“We’re good,” Sisky says, swallowing some beer. “We work hard at it because it can be so fragile.”

“I’m glad,” Mike says gently. “You both deserve someone who’ll do that for you.”

“You always did say the sweetest things, Mike Carden.” Sisky rests his head on Mike’s shoulder for a moment, and Mike is transported to a thousand places where he’s done that before, to a thousand times when a hug from someone familiar was the best thing of all. 

He pats Sisky’s knee awkwardly, and tries to ignore the rising anxiety about seeing Bill. 

*

The next day is the day of their first practice. Butcher booked a space for them in Evanston, just near Northwestern University, so he and Mike and Sisky load all their stuff into the trunk of Sisky’s car and set off just after rush hour. Sisky stops for them to pick up breakfast. Mike scoots the front seat back a bit to put the food on his lap – his own breakfast resting on his right knee and Sisky’s resting on his left.

“Thanks man,” Sisky says, picking up the muffin. 

From the back seat Butcher flicks through Spotify and settles on a classic rock mix that starts out with Lynyrd Skynyrd. He sips his drink when he’s finished his breakfast, and then says, “So does anyone know if Chizzy is actually in?”

Sisky shakes his head. “Last I heard from Bill, Chiz was still thinking about it. No one knows.”

“Did you speak to him?” Butcher asks Mike.

Mike shakes his head, chewing a mouthful. “I thought about it,” he says. “And he’d probably say yes if I asked.”

“Sure,” Sisky agrees. “Chiz would do a lot of things for you.”

“Mmm,” Mike nods. Sisky’s right, but sometimes that feels like a curse. 

“Do you see him, ever?” Butcher asks. He skips over AC/DC and lets Alice Cooper start playing instead. 

“I saw him in Melbourne a couple years ago,” Mike says. “I was there for a swimming thing and he came up to the city to see me.” He thinks. “It must be longer than two years. More like four?”

“He didn’t come to your wedding?”

Mike swallows. He had invited Michael to his wedding. He’d invited three people from his life in music – Gabe, Wentz, and Michael. Only Gabe came, but the others had sent gifts and apologies. Part of him feels bad for not inviting everyone, but he feels like if he’d started that list he’d never have finished it. “He was working,” he says to Butcher. 

“That’s a shame,” Butcher says.

Mike looks at him carefully in the visor mirror. “I’m sorry I didn’t invite you.”

“It’s okay,” Sisky says immediately. “You needed to be out of things.”

“Yes,” Mike says.

Butcher meets his eyes in the mirror and then looks away, sipping from his cup again. 

Alice Cooper sings about a woman of mass destruction for a minute. 

“I didn’t call him,” Mike says eventually. “If he comes, I don’t want it to be just because I asked.”

“Yeah,” Butcher says slowly. “I understand that.” He thinks for a while, and then he says, “Tom would do it, I think, if we wanted him to.”

Mike lets Tom’s name sink to the bottom of his nerves. “Okay,” he says, nodding, trying to not be an asshole about it. “We can bear that in mind. How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing well,” Butcher says, thawing slightly. “He and Danielle got married, did you know?”

“I actually did,” Mike says. “I saw on Instagram.”

“Everybody is on Instagram these days,” Sisky complains. “Fuckin’ everybody.”

They’re the first to arrive at the practice space. It’s in an industrial area of Evanston, just a few blocks away from the shoreline. Mike makes a note to walk down there at some point to see the water. Sure, there’s water near his house in LA and sure, it’s fucking beautiful because it’s the Pacific Ocean, but it’s not Lake Michigan. They park right outside the space and Butcher unloads his kit, hefting the black boxes on to his shoulder to walk into the building. Sisky picks up his bass. 

“Ignore Butcher,” he says. “He is only a little bit mad about the wedding.”

Mike’s fingers are itching to light a cigarette. He touches his right hand pocket, even though he knows there’s no packet there. He doesn’t even carry a lighter anymore. He bites his thumbnail instead. “So what else is he all mad about?”

Sisky laughs. “He’ll get over it.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike says. “It isn’t that I stopped caring.”

Sisky weighs this for a moment. “No,” he says. “But maybe it feels like you did.”

Bill arrives ten minutes after them, just as Mike is unspooling a lead for his guitar in the small, soundproofed room, maybe sixteen feet by sixteen feet. “Hey hey,” he says, smiling brightly. He says his guitar down on the couch in the corner of the room. 

“Hey, man!” Sisky says, going to meet him in the middle of the space. They hug properly, both all arms around the other. “How are you?”

“I’m good!” Bill says, and hugs the Butcher much more briefly, clapping his bare shoulder gently. Then he turns to Mike. He looks a lot older than he used to – more grown up. He’s wearing his glasses and neatly laced all black hi tops. “Hey Mike,” he says, and smiles. It looks pretty genuine; it reaches his eyes. He comes across to Mike with his hand outstretched to shake.

Mike takes it and then at the last minute decides to hug him with his other arm. Their hands get squashed awkwardly between them and Bill laughs. 

“How’s it going?” Mike asks. 

“I think it’s okay,” Bill says, stepping back. He’s looking at Mike in the exact same way Mike was looking at him, sizing him up, trying to see what’s different in the person he once knew so intimately. “This is crazy, right? All four of us here for this?”

“It’s pretty insane,” Mike says, and plugs his guitar in. 

“So how’s marriage treating you?” Bill asks. “How’s Sarah?”

“It’s good,” Mike says. “It’s real good. She’s good.”

“Good!” Bill says brightly and then there’s a silence. Just silence. 

“Okay,” Sisky says eventually, breaking it. “So are you guys going to switch guitar parts?”

“I think so,” Bill says. He looks at Mike, who shrugs, then at Sisky. “I was thinking we should practice every album track. That way we’ve got a whole bunch of songs to choose from.”

“I guess…” Sisky says. “Right from the beginning?”

“Yeah,” Bill says, enthused. He unpacks his own guitar. “Really mix it up, right?”

Butcher starts to tap on the drums, adjusting each one as he goes. The thump of the bass drum feels like the thump of Mike’s own heart. They’re doing this, they’re really doing this. The Academy Is… is back together. 

*

Bill does some vocal exercises into the microphone and Mike runs over his parts for Attention. Sisky tunes his guitar, eyes carefully on the auto tuner at his feet. Butcher’s drums crash in, and then stop. Crash in again, and then stop. Sisky grins, Mike strums his guitar. He tries to play it pretty often, but it’s been a while. His fingers feel stiff on the fretboard. 

“Okay,” Butcher says, tapping his drumsticks together. “From the top?”

Their first attempt sounds horrendous. No one’s in time and then one of Bill’s guitar strings twangs off the guitar and hits him in the face. He tries to keep going but he’s laughing too hard. They all stop playing and Mike laughs too. 

“I’m sorry,” Bill laughs. “Man, of all the times to break a string.” He hops up again to rummage in his bag for another string.

“You all forgot how to play,” Butcher complains. “Adam, honey, you have to keep in time with me.”

Sisky smirks at him. “It’s fucking six years since our band broke up and you’re _still_ complaining that way? Think of new ways, man.” He goes over behind the drums to kiss the Butcher softly. “Besides, you don’t usually complain about my timekeeping.”

Mike snorts with laughter. He is never going to get sick of watching those two flirt outrageously over anything and nothing. 

“Okay, okay,” Bill says, tightening the new string. He plucks it a few times experimentally. “You start, Butcher.”

Before Butcher can start again though, there’s a knock on the door and a familiar voice says, “Knock knock?” and a familiar grin appears on a familiar person.

“Chizzy!” Sisky yells.

“Alright?” Chiz says, grinning widely. He comes into the room.

“Oh my god,” Sisky says, jumping up. He goes over to hug Chiz tightly. 

“Well fuck,” Mike says. He can feel the grin spread over his own face.

Bill gets up too, and goes over to join in the hug. “The hell are you doing here?”

“Like I was about to let you miscreants reform without me?” Chiz says. He squeezes Bill. “I’m hurt.”

“Where’ve you been?” Butcher says. He fist bumps Chiz when offered. “No one knew if you were coming.”

“I wasn’t sure myself,” Chiz says. “I was flip-flopping.” 

“We’re so glad you flipped to us,” Bill says. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Chiz drops his guitar next to Bill’s. “I arrived at O’Hare last night, slept in the Ibis there. I meant to get up early to rent a car, but my body isn’t sure what day it is so I ignored my alarm. So, sorry I’m late?” He grins and comes over to Mike for a hug.

Mike tugs his guitar round the side of his hip so he can hug Chiz. Chiz kisses his cheek as he leans in. 

“It’s good to see you, mate.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Mike says. “Are you for real? You’re really up for it?”

“Yeah, why not? You should’ve called, Mike. I wasn’t even sure you wanted me.”

“I thought about it,” Mike says. “But I wanted you to make your decision just for yourself.”

Chiz punches his arm softly. “Thanks. Alright, what’ve I missed? Where are we starting?”

“Attention,” Bill says. He leaves his own guitar leaning against the wall and raises his mic stand so he’s standing to sing. He shifts it to the middle of the room by the door. They all wait for Chiz, who is leaning over his guitar with his brow furrowed, tuning it carefully.

He strums the first few chords and then looks up at them all. “Alright?”

“Alriiiiiiight,” Butcher says, and counts them in again.

Bill ends up closing his eyes and singing his heart out just like he used to, his back bending to let his voice soar. 

*

At lunchtime they head to a grocery store and load up on pre-packaged sandwiches, sodas, and big packets of chips that Butcher breaks open to lay flat on the tiny table in their practice space. Mike stretches out on the floor next to his guitar stand and eats his sandwich lying on his back with his eyes closed. It’s great to be here, but it’s a lot, too. He’s exhausted. 

Chiz is chatting amiably to Bill, who seems to be not holding any kind of grudge against either of them. Mike could really get used to Chiz’s accent again. If anything, it’s got broader since they were last together. He looks really different too – chunkier and his hair’s faded to brown, but he’s still the same person. Mike opens his eyes to grab a handful of chips and looks at the others. Would they say the same about him? How’s he different now? 

Butcher laughs softly and passes his phone over to Sisky to show him whatever he’s looking at. Sisky looks older, but he’s still the cutest. Butcher has wrinkles on his forehead but otherwise he’s no different. And Bill, Bill has changed a lot. He’s much softer and much less aggressive. 

Mike wants to properly clear the air between them, but he’s not really sure where to start. 

Later in the afternoon they’re taking a little break. Butcher’s stepped out for a cigarette and Sisky and Bill are bent over Bill’s phone watching something. Chiz plays the chords for Skeptics and True Believers, going over and over them. Mike could watch him play for hours – fingers flitting quickly over the fretboard, the little frown on his face from concentrating. Bill once spat out the accusation that Mike had a crush on Chiz and although Mike had strenuously denied it, he later thought that actually it wasn’t too far from the truth, only what he always crushed on most was Chiz’s natural musical talent. Sure, Mike had some, but he also had to practice and practice and practice to get anywhere near good, whereas Chiz and even Bill could just pick stuff up without it ever looking difficult. That was something to be jealous of. 

Mike picks up his own guitar again. Its strings are new so they keep needing to be tightened. Chiz nods at him, widens his eyes a little, and starts to play something which at first Mike doesn’t recognise, but then… It starts to sound familiar. He laughs at Chiz and picks up the rhythm section of the song. Chiz nods approvingly and starts to sing.

“Hey, I just met you… and this is crazy,” Chiz sings, sliding the A in crazy out, “But here’s my number, so call me maybe?”

Sisky starts to laugh, pulling a face. “Dick.”

“I know,” Chiz agrees. He plays a chord and goes back to the words, widening his eyes at Sisky. “It’s hard to look right at you baby, but here’s my number, so call me maybe?” He starts it again and this time Mike joins in, really hamming it up for Sisky. 

“I mean, you’re the guys who know most of the words?” Sisky laughs. “So why you’re mocking me I really don’t know.”

“I’d never mock you,” Chiz says, unsuccessfully trying to pull a straight face. 

“She’s a good person,” Sisky says, just as Butcher comes back in in a cloud of cigarette smoke that practically makes Mike’s mouth water. “I had a good time.” 

“That song is catchy as hell,” Chiz says. “Elliott loved it for months.”

“Let me sing it,” Bill says, standing up.

“You’re not suggesting we add it to the set?” Mike says, fiddling with his tuner yet again.

“Maybe,” Bill says lightly. “I’m open to all suggestions.”

“You’re crazy,” Mike says. 

“Well, call me maybe,” Bill says, not looking at Mike. He straightens his microphone on the stand.

In the past Mike would’ve taken that as a slight and gotten pissy about it. He can tell Bill thinks that, he can tell that Sisky’s braced himself for Mike to snap back and for an argument to break out. He can tell that Butcher is pretending like he’s not even listening. So Mike makes himself laugh, says, “I’ll call you always if you want me to,” and starts the chords again from the top. He’s rewarded with a small smile from Bill. 

At 6pm they call it a day. 

“That was a good day,” Bill says. He punches Butcher in the arm and hugs Sisky briefly. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Cool,” Mike says, nodding. “We don’t sound horrendous, right?”

“I think we sound fine,” Chiz says. “You’d hardly know we’d been away.”

Mike packs up his stuff and follows everyone else out. Sisky looks bushed when he slips behind the steering wheel. They all say goodbye and Sisky pulls out of the parking space. Mike waves at Chiz and Bill and watches their figures recede in the rear-view mirror.

They’ve been going for almost half an hour before anyone says anything. 

“I’m glad Chizzy came back,” Butcher says, his thumb resting on his phone. 

“Me too,” Mike says. “Me too.”

When they get home they eat a microwave meal each and then Mike excuses himself to bed. The upstairs of their house is so peaceful. He has a very quick shower and then collapses into the bed while he’s still damp. He barely even plugs his phone in before he falls into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

*

Practice the next morning goes pretty well. They get going around ten thirty and break off around two. 

“There’s a really good diner like fifteen minutes away,” Bill says almost shyly. “I looked it up on Trip Advisor.”

“Of course you did,” Mike says, setting his guitar down. “We could all go in one car.”

They pile into Sisky’s car, Bill in the front just like the olden days, the others squashed into the back seat. 

“This car is amazingly bad,” Chiz says. “It’s gold.”

“Everyone’s a critic!” Sisky says, throwing one hand up in the air. 

Mike laughs and tries to move his knee enough to stop it going numb. 

Bill sings all the way there, starting with Fall Out Boy and moving on to the Beta Band and ending with Sunny Afternoon by the Kinks, and even though it’s cold out and there’s snow piled up on the sidewalks, Mike wishes he had his sunglasses because he feels like it’s midsummer and he’s on Warped or something. They all unfurl from the car and head in to the diner, which is seriously full Americana. Mike’s pretty sure their waitress has been working there since some time during the Korean War. She has no tables free except a booth for four, so they take that and Bill sits on a stool at the end. 

For shits and giggles Mike orders a root beer float and is largely unsurprised when everyone follows suit. He’s trying to choose between a pancake stack and a hot dog to eat when Sisky says,

“Chizzy man, I don’t even know what your daughter is called.”

“Ruby,” Chiz says. “It suits her, but it wasn’t my first choice.”

“Naomi’s?” Sisky flexes his fingers carefully. “It’s cute, I like it.”

“She’s both crazy and amazing,” Chiz says proudly. “They both are.”

Mike has only met Elliott, when he was tiny, but he’s Skyped with both kids a bunch of times. He really ought to get out to Sydney though, and see them both. He smiles at Chiz.

“What about you, Mike?” Chiz asks. “Do you think you and Sarah might have a kid soon?”

“I’m not sure,” Mike says. “Sarah has a couple health issues that might prevent that…?”

“I’m sorry,” Chiz says immediately.

“I am too,” Bill says, and Sisky and Butcher both nod sympathetically. 

“Thanks,” Mike says. “It’s okay. We’re pretty happy just the two of us, too.”

“Like us,” Sisky says. “My mom is pretty keen on us adopting, but…”

“No?” Chiz says. “You wouldn’t want a child?”

“I already have thirty six kids who depend on me at any one time,” Sisky says, “They’re all aged over twelve and they all have complex needs. I feel like I’m pretty set.” He smiles sweetly.

Mike thinks that Butcher is about to say something, but then the waitress comes back to take their food order and the moment is lost. 

*

On the third day they’re doing okay, almost getting back into the swing of things, managing to play in time at least half the time, when Mike falters, throwing everyone else off. Everyone stops, Mike shrugs.

“Sorry.”

“Okay?” Bill says, and three of them nod at him and mentally go back to the beginning to start again.

Butcher, though, Butcher says, “For fuck’s sake, Mike.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike says. “I said I’m sorry.”

“Fucking concentrate,” Butcher says, adjusting a cymbal.

“Fucking make me,” Mike snaps, without thinking. 

He’s regretting the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, but Butcher bounces up on to the balls of his feet. 

“Guys,” Sisky says. “Babe, sit the fuck down, okay?”

“Such a dick,” Butcher breathes, his eyes straight on Mike’s, but he does indeed sit down. He adjusts the damn cymbal again.

“Okay!” Bill says brightly. “We start again, right?”

“Right,” Mike says, and tries extra damn hard this time to not fuck it up. 

At lunchtime, Mike puts his guitar on its stand carefully and says, “I think I’m gonna go down to the waterfront for a walk, so, I guess I’ll see you later?”

He leaves before anyone says much of anything, sure that Chiz will want to follow him and he just needs to be alone.

He heads straight down towards the water, walking east along their street, following the twinkling sunlight on the lake. He turns left, buys a burrito from the only open stand on the waterfront, and heads along the edge of the lake itself. There’s a small drop on to the beach so Mike drops to sit on the ledge. He’s glad he has a thicker jacket – the sun is deceptive because it’s freezing. 

The water is pretty soothing. If it were May, or even April, Mike would strip to his boxers and wade in until the water was over his waist, and then he’d dive in and swim a few strokes up and down. Sure, it’d be cold, but he can almost taste the water on his skin, the calm he’d feel afterwards, the weightlessness he’d feel while he was swimming, letting muscle memory take over so that he wouldn’t have to think about anything, not about missing Sarah, or about the band, or about everything that happened between them to make Butcher as mad as he is. 

A shadow falls over him. Mike sighs, turns, ready to tell Chiz to buzz off for just a little while longer, please? But it’s the Butcher, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his green parka. 

“Sisky said I should come talk to you.”

“You made your feelings pretty clear,” Mike says, turning away from him. 

Butcher sighs as he sits down, his legs draped over the edge of the ledge like Mike’s. “That’s what I said.”

“So don’t do me any favors, man. We don’t have to be friends, right? We can be in the same band for a few weeks without being friends.”

“We can.” Butcher puts his hands back in his pockets and stares out at the water for a minute or so. 

Mike waits.

“The thing is,” Butcher says, eventually. “I always thought we were buddies, Mike.”

“Back when? Sure. We were.”

“You know, like, it wasn’t easy trying to infiltrate you and Bill and Adam? Trying to get any of you to be friends with me and Tom… You were like your own little clique and you had all these jokes and experiences that no one else understood…”

“Sure.”

“Don’t just…” Butcher’s face is pinched. He takes a cigarette packet out of his pocket and fiddles with the top of it. 

“What am I doing wrong _now_ , Butcher? I can’t win with you.”

“You’re fucking irritating,” Butcher says, and he pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights it in one fluid motion. It’s kind of impressive.

“We were friends,” Mike says. “You and me, I mean. I know it was tough for you to begin with, and then you and Sisky started seeing each other which complicated things –”

“Fuck you,” Butcher interrupts. 

“I – I’m not complaining, Jesus. You and him is some kind of meant to be, right? You work.”

“Yeah.” 

“Fuck,” Mike breathes. “You’re kind of fucking irritating too.”

Butcher stops for a moment, then laughs. “Yeah, alright.” He offers the cigarette over.

Mike shakes his head. “I quit, remember.”

“Yeah, that’s weird. Do you miss it?”

“Only every day of my life.” 

Butcher snorts. “Adam says he’ll quit when he turns forty.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean until January he kept saying he’d quit when he turned thirty…”

Mike laughs. “Sure.”

“You say that too much.”

“Is that what’s annoying?”

“I guess? I’m not used to you being so affable.”

“That’s an interesting word choice, man.”

“But you never were. You were spiky and argumentative, right, but you were honest and forthright and I always knew where I stood.” 

“I just told you that you’re fucking irritating,” Mike says, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets in case his hands will be warmer there. “What more do you want?”

Butcher takes a deep drag, not looking at Mike but out at the water. There’s a boat slipping slowly across their view. Mike would like to be out there on it. 

“I thought we were all friends,” Butcher says carefully. “I thought that once I was in with you guys, I was set. And I know things got all fucked up with Tom…”

Mike flinches and doesn’t manage to hide it. 

“I know,” Butcher says sympathetically. “I know. But then Chiz came and things were still good, right? The five of us did have fun.”

“A lot of fun,” Mike agrees. “I know Chiz and I were close, and Sisky and I were close, but you and me still were friends.”

“Yes! Good. Thank you.”

“I know it wasn’t easy for anyone when Bill and I were arguing.”

“No, no, it pretty much sucked.”

“Yeah.” Mike remembers the last year or so of the band like a heavy weight, like the albatross around his neck. “We should’ve done things differently.”

“Yeah. I used to wish that both of you would put Adam first for once maybe?”

“That’s because you love him. It’s different when friends are hurting people you’re in love with.”

“Maybe.” 

“Bill… Bill wanted more than I could give,” Mike says eventually.

“Right, right. I get that too, Mike. He does that to Adam sometimes, you know? Even now.”

“He would do anything for Sisky, if Sisky asked.”

“Sure, I know that too. Both things can be true.” Butcher swings his legs a little bit. “It’s freezing.”

“You live here year round, man. Think about my frozen bones.”

“It’s colder on the water than anywhere else,” Butcher says. “We don’t come down here too much.”

“Chiz was only staying because of me, you know,” Mike says, trying to be as gentle as he can. “Chiz wanted out for like a year before we split.”

Butcher looks at him, staying very still, his eyes weighing up Mike’s words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He wanted to go home, he wanted to have a baby and not be on tour in the US.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I know.” Mike takes a deep breath. “He and I talked, a lot, and he agreed he would stay until I said otherwise. It’s… most likely one of the nicest things anyone ever did for me.”

“Chiz is like that,” Butcher nods. “That was good of him.”

Mike nods too. He waits a moment. “And then I got to a point where I was done too, you know? I wanted to go to college and have some time for myself. I was staying for Bill.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I know, you’d never think right? I know things ended badly…”

Butcher huffs a laugh.

“And I know you guys got caught in the middle,” Mike says quickly, not letting Butcher butt in. “And I’m sorry for that, I’m so sorry for everything that happened.”

“Okay,” Butcher says. 

“But I knew, I knew that Bill wasn’t ready to not be in a band, right? He needed us because he didn’t have the confidence to be solo just yet. So I stayed. So Chiz stayed.” Mike sighs, looks out at the lake again. “Until everyone was fucking miserable and being nasty to each other.”

“Fuck,” Butcher says. 

“I’m sorry. I wish you weren’t mad at me because I am really sorry.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that.”

“Truce?”

Butcher squints at him and stubs the cigarette out, looking down at the concrete they’re sitting on as he does. “I just… It felt like no one thought about Adam, okay? He grew up with you guys and then you and Bill both split and it just sort of left him with nothing.”

“He had you.”

“Yes, yeah, he did. But sometimes that’s not the same.”

“Do you think he wishes we hadn’t broken up?”

“No. I think he did, but not now. He’s got his job, right. He loves it.”

“Which is good. That’s far safer and more worthwhile than any fucking band.”

“Sure.” Butcher goes back to fiddling with the lid of his cigarette packet. 

There’s still something else. Mike was expecting Butcher to accept his apology and say truce, and then they could start again, trying to be gentler with each other than before. But Butcher is still angry. It radiates off him.

Part of Mike wants to yell at him, tell him to fuck off and stomp away angrily. It’s a pretty big part, but it’s not the majority part of him anymore. He isn’t that person anymore. 

What was the word Butcher called him? Affable. Meaning friendly, right? That’s what students used to call him when he was an RA. Used to say that whatever the problem was Mike could sort it out and not behave like a dick towards them while he did it. Mike learnt a lot in that job. He learnt how to look at both sides, for one thing, and how to look beyond someone’s words to what they really meant. 

He keeps looking at Butcher, though, because he’s not fully understanding what’s happening here. Butcher lights another cigarette and looks out at the water again.

“Are you angry because no one stuck around for you? Because you feel like you were left with nothing?”

Butcher turns his head towards Mike. His face is clouded with pain, it’s sort of impressive how betrayed he looks. Fuck, this is worse than Mike thought. 

“I’m sorry,” Mike says, and scooches closer so that he can put his arm round Butcher. “I am unreservedly sorry.”

Butcher doesn’t say anything, just looks away, but the anger isn’t radiating off him now, and he doesn’t shrug Mike’s arm off his shoulder or anything.

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t realise,” Butcher says, “because no one ever really realises. Good old Butcher, right? He’s so reliable, he just rolls with the punches, he won’t flip out when you suggest your band takes a hiatus.”

Mike tries to not react to this, but he’s not sure how successful he is. “I’m sorry.”

“I had nothing. I had Adam and a bit of talent at drumming, and not much else.”

“You’re an artist, aren’t you? You’re good at that.”

“Sure, but it’s not like…”

“Like what?”

“A career.” Butcher takes a deep breath. “I guess that’s it. I don’t have one and now, like, we’re all thirty something and you all have stuff, and I don’t.”

“Because you’re…”

“Don’t say I’m some kind of free spirit, man. It’s fucking bullshit. Bill and Chiz are both making money from doing what they love, aren’t they?”

“Because they’re lucky.” 

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“You could do anything,” Mike says, and this definitely feels like a speech he’s given before, to tearful sophomores in knots over their major. “You could go to college, or community college, or some kind of anything, to do anything that you want to do. Adam would support you.”

“Maybe,” Butcher says. “Maybe I just don’t know what I want to do.”

“So think about it.”

Butcher nods. “Okay.”

“I was in a bad place,” Mike says. “I didn’t feel like it was fair to keep everyone going when my heart wasn’t in it.”

“Yeah,” Butcher says. “I can’t even be mad because I would’ve done the same.”

“We’re okay now, right?”

“It’s weird being back, isn’t it? Everyone moved on but we still have something.”

“I think TAI still has something, yeah,” Mike agrees. “I think practice has gone well.”

Butcher nods and sniffs. “Okay. We’re okay. I’m sorry I was mad.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Butcher stands up, dusts off his ass and his knees. “I accept it. I also like that you take responsibility for shit these days.”

“Yeah, well…”

“I mean it. I like it.” Butcher holds out a hand and Mike takes it to haul himself up. 

“Thanks,” Mike says. “Fuck, just a lot of water under a lot of bridges, yeah?”

“Have you talked it through with Bill yet?”

“Nope.”

“You’re gonna have to.”

“Before the tour, yeah, I will. I’ll make sure there’s nothing outstanding then, yeah.”

“Good man,” Butcher says, sounding kind of English and posh, which makes Mike laugh so much he has to double over and hold on to his knees for support. 

They walk back together in companionable silence. 

“I might be an astronaut,” Butcher says when they’re nearly back at their building.

“I support you in all your endeavours,” Mike says, and he’s not entirely surprised when Butcher stops and hugs him. He hugs back tightly. 

“Thanks,” Butcher says, and Mike knows he means for everything. 

*

By the weekend they’ve got back into the swing of things and things are sounding pretty good. Their fourth day of practice is the Saturday, so they decide to just do a half day and finish at 2pm. 

“I can’t make it tomorrow,” Bill says as he’s packing up his stuff. “Kid stuff, you know.”

“No worries,” Sisky says. “We can have a couple days off, right?”

“Right,” Chiz says. “Should I book my hotel until next Friday like we said?”

“No,” Bill says. “You should come and stay with me instead.”

Chiz thinks about it for a moment. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Bill says. “Come to mine tomorrow night or something?”

“Sure.”

“Tuesday?” Bill says, looking round at the others. “See you guys then?”

Everyone nods in agreement. 

“We should book some warm up shows,” Mike says. “Like, here, LA, some place else?”

“Do we need it?” Bill asks.

“Maybe not, but I think it would be fun.”

“Me too,” Sisky says. Mike, grateful for the back up, flashes a smile at him. 

“Alright,” Bill says. “Do you want me to try to fix those up?”

“Sure,” Mike says. “I have a contact in LA though. I’ll email you her number.”

“Thanks Mike,” Bill says. “Like, when? March?”

“March,” Mike nods decisively. “Just us and some local bands, some small venues.”

“Yeah,” Bill says. He’s standing very still, a lead in his hand, looking straight at Mike. It’s so very different from how things had been at the end that Mike feels his throat swell with tears. 

“Thank you,” Mike says, and goes over to hug Bill gently. 

Bill hugs back, also very gently, and even though they haven’t spoken properly about anything, Mike feels the apology in it. 

They say goodbye all at once, outside, the five of them standing in a little group. Before they peel off to the separate cars, though, Mike catches Chiz and says,

“I think I might go see my mom and stepdad?”

“Oh yeah?”

“I wondered if you wanted to come with me?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“No, and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t either.”

“I’d like that, then.”

“Come back with me to Sisky’s and let me grab a few things?”

“Sure.” 

Mike says bye to the others and gets into Chiz’s hire car. It’s a maroon SUV, pretty small but comfortable inside. Chiz slides in, slides on his sunglasses, and starts the car with a roar. 

“You’re such a fucking rock star,” Mike says, laughing. 

“Thank you,” Chiz laughs. “Should I follow Sisky back to theirs?”

“Sure.” 

They follow the gold car until they get back to the main road. “I know the way from here,” Mike says, so Chiz puts his foot down and they overtake Sisky’s car. Butcher gives them the finger when they do. 

“How do you think everyone’s going?” Chiz asks. He flips down the visor. 

For a moment Mike wants to tell him to nix Milwaukee and turn west so they can just keep driving until they run out of country. The heat in the car lulls Mike into the same sense of freedom he felt earlier. He could just take off, follow his itchy feet and never go home again. 

He knows that that way lies madness.

“I think everyone’s okay,” he says. “I think Sisky isn’t really sure why he’s here but he did it for the Butcher and for Bill.”

“Butcher’s acting kind of weird, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, I thought that too.” Mike sips some water. “We talked a bit, earlier. He’s mad I didn’t invite them to my wedding, for one thing.”

“You didn’t invite anyone.”

“I invited you, didn’t I? I guess I could’ve done everyone…”

“Right, but you and Bill weren’t on good terms, were you?”

“I’m not sure we even are now.” Mike passes the bottle across. His throat hurts from singing backing vocals all day. “We haven’t really talked. I think we would’ve…”

“Except I turned up at the beginning of the week, so you haven’t had to.” Chiz glances over, nodding. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s being really careful with you.”

“Yeah, no, totally,” Mike says quickly. “I’m not saying he isn’t.”

“Good.”

“Plus he was the one who asked me to do all of this. I always thought he’d get Sisky to do it, right? To persuade me into it?”

“Ah come on, Bill’s got more about him than that.”

“I don’t really mean it in a bad way, Chizzy. I just thought he wouldn’t want to hear whatever it was I had to say.”

“And what do you have to say?”

“Right now? I’m not sure.”

“Well, think about it, yeah? Because sooner or later you’ll end up having that conversation, and I know you won’t want to be unprepared for it.”

“Sure thing Michael,” Mike says, and lays his head on the headrest and closes his eyes.

“You can’t go to sleep,” Chiz says, poking him in the thigh with one finger. “I’ve no bloody clue where I’m going.”

They arrive back first, obviously, but Sisky and the Butcher aren’t too far behind. Mike excuses himself to his room and stands in the dark, cool room for a few minutes, doing all of that yoga breathing Sarah is such a fan of. He sends her a message and then packs a few things into his backpack. 

On his way down the stairs Mike can head Butcher laughing with Chizzy, so easily, so happily. Mike hopes their little chat has helped, hopes that he and Butcher have turned a corner. Maybe the weekend apart will help them both to have space to think. 

“I’ll see you guys Tuesday morning,” Mike says brightly, stepping into the kitchen. “Have a good weekend.”

“We will,” Sisky says. “It’s been good, right? This week?”

“It’s been great,” Mike agrees. 

“Better than you thought?” Butcher says.

“I didn’t think it would be like anything,” Mike starts, but he can see by Butcher’s face that it was the wrong thing to say. Try harder, Mike. 

“Let’s go,” Chiz says brightly.

“Tuesday,” Mike says to Sisky, and touches his arm on the way out. 

*

Mike’s mom downsized from the family home eighteen months ago, and Mike doesn’t exactly know the way to her new place. He sets the map going on his phone, but he barely uses the app so he can’t make it speak out loud, so they keep missing turns. 

“Bloody hell,” Chiz says. “Give it to me.” He fiddles with it one handed while driving, and the voice, when it comes, blares loudly, surprising them both. 

“Fuck, man,” Mike says, and takes the phone back before Chizzy kills the both of them. At least now they can hear the instructions in plenty of time. 

“This is the street,” Mike says, when they take a right and the little red dot shows that they’re in the right place. Chiz parks on the street. It’s already dark; getting back to Sisky’s and then to here means the sun has set and the temperature has dropped. Mike shivers when he gets out of the car, but leads Chiz up the driveway, their bags and equipment split between them.

“Mike,” Mike’s mom says when she opens the door. 

He drops his bags in the hallway to hug her tightly. “Fuck I missed you.”

“Don’t say fuck,” she says, kissing his cheek. She moves on to Chiz. “Michael, it is so nice to see you. You’re looking well.”

“Am I not looking well?” Mike complains, but there’s no malice in it. They leave their stuff in the hallway and follow her into the den. 

“Thanks so much for having me,” Chiz says. 

“Absolutely any time,” Elaine says. “You know there’s always room here for you.”

“Mike!” Mike’s stepdad, Don, says, standing up from his chair. He hugs Mike gently – when Mike lived in Illinois the two of them weren’t on these kind of terms, but ever since he moved to LA Don has instigated hugs and often calls at around 4.30pm Illinois time, before Elaine gets home when he’s just starting dinner. It’s really nice – Mike appreciates Don in a way he never thought he would. 

“How’s it going?” Mike says, and takes a seat on the beat up sofa that has been around for around fifteen years. It’s comfortable and soft. Mike takes the sentiment about coming home, and accepts a beer from his mom.

He and Chiz talk about Naomi and Sarah and their jobs and LA and Australia and The Academy and Bill and Sisky and Butcher and everything else Elaine asks about, for hours, over dinner of Chinese takeout and four beers and a bedtime cup of tea.

Elaine’s house only has two bedrooms, so Chiz offers to take the pull out camp bed which is propped in one corner.

“You’re welcome to share with me,” Mike says, going around the queen bed to his side, to put his watch and phone on the neat nightstand there. 

Chiz looks at the camp bed, then the proper bed, then nods. “Alright.”

“Atta boy,” Mike says, and grins when Chizzy waggles his eyebrows at him. 

It isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed, but Mike sort of thought those days were over. He’s not exactly complaining, though – Chiz is a thoughtful bedfellow and is also warm and cosy. 

In the morning he’s fast asleep still when Mike wakes up, face half mashed into the pillow, breathing softly. Somehow his presence is still as much of a comfort as it ever was. Mike turns over, pulls the covers over himself again, and goes back to sleep.

*

Mike and Chiz spend a nice weekend not doing very much. They catch a hockey game with Don on Sunday afternoon, and then on Monday they watch terrible movies on Netflix, following one recommendation after another. Mike lays on the couch and Chiz curls up in the easy chair, one of Elaine’s soft throws spread over his legs. They have that soft, easy silence they always had. They chat sometimes, but mostly Mike has one eye on the movie and one eye on his book, and Chiz is writing things in a black journal. 

“I missed this,” Mike says around 3pm, when they’ve fixed two sandwiches and grabbed a couple beers from the fridge.

“Me?”

“Well, yeah, you, but just this, you know? This easy comfortable friendship. I don’t have a lot of it.”

“Not with Sarah?”

“Of course with Sarah. I meant otherwise. Other friends. There’s Gabe, sure, but I don’t see enough of him.”

“How is the crazy bugger?” Chiz sits back down in the chair, cracking open the beer.

“Crazy,” Mike grins. “Love him.” 

“I think that’s what we missed towards the end, you know.”

“Gabe Saporta?” Mike jokes.

“No, idiot. Friendship. It got too…” Chiz waves a hand, thinking. “It got to where we were in a band, we were professionals, we kept it together… but we weren’t friends. We weren’t hanging out or anything. We’d fractioned.”

“Sure.”

“You sure do say ‘sure’ a lot, you know.” Chiz rubs his nose.

“Butcher accused me of that, too.” Mike sits up to look more closely at Chiz. He sips his beer. “I’m just agreeing, Jesus.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s the difference.” Chiz grins. “Come on, do you wanna go for a drive?”

“Alright…?” Mike frowns at Chiz, but Chiz just smiles at him. 

They get ready quickly, Chiz abandoning his beer and shoving his feet into his sneakers. Mike finishes his sandwich and finds his boots, and they head out to Chiz’s hire car. 

“Do you wanna tell me where we’re going?” Mike asks five minutes away from his mom’s house. 

“William’s house,” Chiz says. He passes his phone over. 

“Really? Now? Why?”

“To hang out.”

Mike pauses. “Okay.”

“You can’t repair a damn thing if you don’t exist in the same space.” Chiz slips into second gear and heads up the ramp on to the freeway. 

“Sure,” Mike says.

“Fucking stop it,” Chiz says, which makes Mike laugh so much he can barely breathe.

Bill is home alone. “Chrissy took Evie swimming,” he says, once he’s stopped looking quite so shocked at two bandmates standing on his doorstep. “Come in. Hi, hey. Coffee?”

“Tea,” Chiz says, and heads into what turns out to be the kitchen. 

The fridge is covered in kids’ artwork and photos and a family calendar with appointments scrawled over it in Bill’s familiar hand. The table is covered in an oilcloth with ladybirds on. Mike takes a seat. 

“So to what do I owe the pleasure?” Bill says. He proffers a tub of those coffee machine pods. Mike chooses a vanilla coffee one and hands the tub over to Chiz. He’s putting on a brave face, smiling slightly too brightly at them. 

When did Bill feel he had to use his stage face in front of them? 

“Chiz said a thing,” Mike says, tracing round the ladybirds so he doesn’t have to look at either of his friends. “He said that we stopped being friends, and that without being friends we can’t mend anything.”

“I see,” Bill says. 

Mike can feel Bill’s eyes on him, but he won’t look up, not just yet, not just now. 

“I thought you were here for a band thing,” Bill says, turning towards the coffee machine and a cupboard. “It’s going okay, isn’t it? Better than I thought, I…”

His tone is still too bright and false, but he keeps chattering. Neither Mike nor Chiz says anything, they don’t respond to his questions or fill in with noises in the right places and eventually Bill’s voice dies off. Mike looks up then, sees Bill frowning at them both. 

Mike frowns right back at him, but Chiz is smiling gently. 

“Not here for the band,” he says firmly. “Stop talking about band stuff.”

“Oh,” Bill says, rubbing the back of his beck. He hands Mike a cup of coffee and fetches creamer and sugar over to the table. 

“Tell us about _you_ ,” Chiz says. “Tell us about touring by yourself. Or about the family! Tell us about the family.”

“Of course,” Bill says, still in that brittle voice. 

That voice makes Mike want to cry. 

Chiz has a point. 

“We need to find a pool table, man,” Mike says. “Is there a decent bar around here?”

“Yes,” Bill says. “Yes, there is.”

“Find your keys then, huh?” Mike drains his coffee, scalding himself only lightly, and stands up. “No time like the present.”

Bill smiles. “You always were impatient.”

“I’m never impatient any more, William Beckett. I’m a whole new person.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I like this improved version?” Bill says lightly. He picks up his keys from the kitchen island and follows Mike and Chiz back out into the hallway. He picks up a jacket from a hook on the stairs and shrugs it on. 

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” Mike says easily. 

Bill locks up the house behind them and then slides into the back of Chiz’s hire car. “Take a left,” he says.

No one says anything on the drive to the bar, located next to a laundromat on a strip mall only ten minutes away, except for Bill giving Chiz directions. Chiz parks the car and they head inside. It’s almost dead inside, not that surprisingly, but the pool table is empty and they each fumble for some quarters to put in it. 

“Can I just say one thing about the band?” Bill says, picking up a pool cue and the chalk. “Before we get on with the apparently vital business of being friends?”

“Sure,” Chiz says. 

“I think we should write a new song,” Bill says. “For the tour.”

Mike, who is standing at the bar peering at the beers in the fridge behind the barman, turns. “Yeah? For real?”

Bill shrugs a little self-consciously. “For real.”

“We could do that this week,” Chiz says. “Yeah, that’s a really nice idea.”

“It is,” Mike says, and smiles at Bill.

He’s rewarded with a warm, genuine smile from Bill, and although it’s fleeting, it feels like the sun outside shining on the cold day.

Chiz sticks to lemonade, but Mike and Bill try a new beer they haven’t had before, and it’s pretty good. Mike loses the first game to Bill.

“Winner stays on,” Bill says, tipping his chin at Mike.

Mike relinquishes, and pulls a bar stool closer to the table to sit on it. He signals to the barman for two more beers, and takes a long suck of his when it arrives.

“I had a lot of therapy,” he says eventually, focussing very hard on the red 3 ball Chiz is aiming for. 

“Huh?” Bill says, turning to him. 

“You said I’m different. I know I’m different. I had a lot of therapy to not be so fucking angry.”

“What were you angry about?” Bill asks. 

Chiz makes the shot, shifts around the table to take his next one. 

“Every fucking thing,” Mike shrugs. “You.”

“Me?” Bill looks genuinely hurt.

“Among other things, yeah. You, me, the band, not being in the band, not having a life, suddenly having a life, my mom, my dad, the girls I hurt…” Mike swallows some more beer. “Every fucking thing.”

“Oh.” Bill nods, swaps places with Chiz and dips down low, his chin resting on the end of his cue to take the shot. Mike’s reminded very suddenly of seventeen year old Bill challenging bikers to games of pool in bars in downtown Chicago to try to make some money. He looks so much like his younger self that Mike wants to get drunk on four dollar red wine and make out with him, something they did with some regularity back in the day but which was never talked about in a sober light and which neither of them has ever admitted out loud – well, not to each other, anyway. 

It is hard to be like this with someone that you have loved so completely, Mike thinks. Someone that you have known so intimately, whether sexually or otherwise, and to whom you didn’t go a day without speaking for literally years — to what it then became: a silence, a blanket silence where they never spoke but only heard of each other peripherally. Sometimes Mike would google Bill’s name to find out what he was doing. Sometimes he’d be jealous, and yes, angry, angry that Bill appeared to carry on without ever looking back at what he’d had. 

But Mike is a different person to before. He knows that a lot of things aren’t about him, he knows that what he saw online isn’t the sum total of someone’s life. Chiz is right – they really need to be friends. 

Chiz manages to pot the black ball on his next shot, forfeiting the game. “Fuck,” he says when the ball goes down, slapping his forehead. 

Bill laughs. “You always sucked at pool.”

“He’s right, you did,” Mike says, taking the cue from Chiz. He’s rewarded with a grin from Bill.

Bill breaks this time, scattering the balls. Mike moves round him to take his shot. Before he stoops, though, he says, “I think it’s okay if things aren’t like they were, but this is a good start, right?”

“It is,” Bill says. “Thank you for coming.”

They don’t leave the bar until it’s past 8pm. It’s freezing outside, but the cold sobers Mike quickly. They’re all quiet on the drive back to Bill’s, but when Chiz pulls up on the kerb Mike gets out too to walk with Bill to the door. 

“So chivalrous,” Bill jokes, fumbling for his keys. 

“I know.” Mike waits, trying to focus his mind enough to say what he wants to say. “Listen, hey. I’m not angry with you anymore.”

“No?” Bill opens the door, spilling warm light on to the porch. “I’m not angry with you anymore, either.”

Mike lets that settle for a few seconds while Bill unzips his jacket and turns to hang it up. “Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

He turns to go, but before he can Bill catches hold of him and hugs him tightly. Mike immediately hugs him back, his arms around Bill entirely. 

They stand there for more than just a few moments, saying nothing but squeezing each other tightly. They rock slightly, whether from alcohol or emotion Mike isn’t sure. It has the weight of years behind it, the weight of a lot of forgiveness passing from one of them to the other. 

“Goodnight,” Bill says softly when they finally pull away from each other.

“See you tomorrow,” Mike says. Halfway down the drive he rubs tears away from his face. He gets in the car and Chiz pulls away. He doesn’t say anything but Mike knows exactly what he’s thinking. He’s all smug because he was right, because this has gone some way towards mending things.

Mike punches him on the arm, maybe a little harder than he should have.

“Hey,” Chiz complains. “What’s that for?”

“You know exactly what it’s for,” Mike says, and grins at Chiz’s pout. 

*

In the event, the band doesn’t end up writing a new song. Bill has words, but “none of them are ready”, and no one has much compulsion to think of new tunes either. Not when the old stuff still sounds so terrible. They whittle down their songs into a ten song set and focus hard on those ten songs. It isn’t terrible, Mike’s being unfair. But it’s still not great, either. 

“It’s rusty,” Sisky says. “We’re rusty. You all gotta remember I haven’t picked up a bass for a long while.”

Mike records their sessions on his laptop and they crowd round them afterwards, each watching himself closely for where he might be going wrong. Mike never liked seeing himself on film but watching now isn’t so bad. He’s 33 but if he squints he could still pass for twenty-three.

“You’re out of whack, man,” Butcher says, and Mike starts, thinking that it’s him who’s messing it all up. But the Butcher is looking at Bill.

“You think?” Bill says. 

“Yeah, look.” Butcher moves the video back slightly, then points at the screen. “You’re out of sync with me and Adam.”

“Huh.” Bill frowns, lines appearing between his eyebrows. 

“You forgot how to play with a band,” Butcher says. “You have to listen to the rhythm section.”

“That told you,” Sisky says, bumping his hip against Bill. 

“Alright, alright.” Bill moves back towards the microphone. “From the top.”

The rest of the week goes like the first one did. Chiz and Bill leave together now, though, and Mike is glad that the two of them seem to have settled back into the closeness they used to have. He and Sisky and the Butcher go to a restaurant in Milwaukee one evening and Mike and Sisky get drunk on Sauvignon Blanc, and it’s great to shoot the shit with drunk Sisky – always one of Mike’s favourite people – but otherwise they spend each evening chilling out. Mike practices his guitar so much that he can feel old callouses reforming on his fingers. 

And then, it’s Saturday and it’s their last day. They’ve been together for almost two weeks, they’ve played every song they ever wrote and a few they didn’t, they’ve laughed, and cried, and bickered like it’s 2006 again, but most of all they’ve been together, they’ve been a _band_ again. 

And it’s been great. It really has, but Mike is more than ready to be heading to the airport to go home. However, he and Chiz have a few hours before check in, so they head off the same diner as before and order beers for everyone except the Butcher, who orders a mint chip milkshake. He still holds it up to clink with everyone else when Bill says “To us.”

Mike swallows half of the bottle and then says, “Santi.”

Sisky laughs. “I am going to miss you, Mike Carden.”

“I miss you about every day of your life,” Mike says sincerely.

Sisky grins so widely they all join in, laughing. 

*

“Are you nervous?” Sarah asks from a few steps in front of Mike.

“Yes,” he says. 

They’re in LA to play a warm up show. Sarah’s got Mike’s guitar slung on her back, while he’s got his amp head in one hand and everything else in the other. The guitar is cute on her, Mike likes it. When they stop outside the back door, he leans and kisses her cheek from behind. 

She laughs. Then, “Really? Don’t be nervous.”

“Sure.”

“You’ve done this hundreds of times.”

“Yeah, but not like this, not like this ever.”

“I’m here.”

“I know.” Mike kisses the back of her head and then, because no one has answered her polite knock, he leans past her and bangs on the door. “Hello!”

Tony’s head appears. “Oh hey man.”

“Tony! Fuck, man, fuck!”

“Michael Carden in the actual flesh.” Tony grins widely. “You must be Sarah,” he says to Sarah.

“I am! You must be Tony! Hi!”

Mike hugs him hard. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Like I could miss it. Come in, come on.”

In the backstage room Sisky and Butcher are sitting squashed into one edge of a huge, beat up leather corner couch. Sisky scrambles up, wiping his mouth as he does so.

“Sarah! Oh my god, hello. Hi.” He shakes her hand and she laughs.

“Hi, hello! It’s Adam right?”

“It most surely is.” They hug, and Adam takes the guitar from her and offers her a drink and god knows what else, because Mike goes over to hug the Butcher.

“Nice to see you,” Butcher says easily. 

“Are you stoned?”

“A little?”

“I take it Bill’s not here yet, then.”

“No indeed. Want some?”

“Maybe later.” Mike smiles, then heads towards the stage to put his stuff down. 

The stage is darkened except for a couple of lights either end. The room beyond it is dark too, although the bar at the far end is lit up and Mike can see a couple of bartenders setting up. They laugh, but he’s not close enough to hear what they’re saying. The room looks huge, but the show is sold out and Mike can’t believe that in just a few hours the floor will be filled and everyone will be waiting for a band who hasn’t played together in over six years to take the stage.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind him.

“Huh?” Mike jumps. He turns and finds Bill standing behind him.

“Sorry,” Bill says. “I just arrived.”

“Oh, hey, us too.”

“There’s already a line out front. I waved to ‘em.”

“Fuck,” Mike breathes. 

“I know. Hey, so, Sarah’s here right?”

“She is. Sisky took her off to get a drink.”

On cue they both appear at the bottom of the stage steps. 

“We did a tour,” Sisky says, and bounds up the stairs. 

“Here,” Sarah says, handing Mike a Diet Coke. It’s freezing and dripping condensation from the fridge.

“Amazing,” Mike says, cracking it. “This is Bill.”

“Hi,” Sarah says, and holds out her hand for him to shake.

“Hey,” Bill says. “It is really good to meet you. We heard a lot about you, Mike talked about you a lot while we were practicing in February.”

“Oh.” Sarah grins, delighted, but her eyes slide to Mike like she’s unsure whether Bill is being truthful.

Okay, so it’s mostly just Bill’s way of trying, mostly just his charm, right, but Mike does talk about her, because why wouldn’t he? 

Bill is just being nice. Bill is just being nice. 

Bill dumps his stuff and they all go back towards the green room. Support is a local act called Love Springs Eternal, arranged by Mike’s contact Jane, who is coming into the building just as Mike passes it.

“Hey!” he says happily, and greets her with a fist bump on her shoulder.

“Hey hey,” she says, pulling her bike in behind her. She’s a little out of breath and she pulls a bandana out of her bag to wipe her forehead. 

Jane is gay, chubby, likes to work out in the gym, and she always wears tank tops and ripped jeans. Mike met her in the gym at college in his sophomore year and they’ve been friends ever since. She’s a research assistant at USM, although Mike has never quite defined what exactly it is she’s researching. At night she likes to promote gigs in tiny venues, although “for you guys I thought big!” she’d said on the phone to Mike when she called to tell him she’d firmed up the plans for the LA warm up show. And she has, because this place is huge. 

“Is that fresh?” she says now, indicating the can in Mike’s hand.

“I took like one sip,” Mike says, holding it out. “Have it.”

“Thank you.” She takes it. “Is everyone here?”

“No, everyone but Chizzy.”

“Okay, cool. Love Springs Eternal are all working so they’re going to be here at six, so I’ll get them to soundcheck then. So, whenever you guys are ready…”

Mike nods. “Come through, yeah. Meet everyone.”

She follows him into the green room, wheeling her bike alongside. 

“This is Jane,” Mike says. “She booked all of this.”

“Oh cool,” Sisky says, twisting to look at her. He shakes her hand.

“Sick bike,” Butcher says, like Mike knew he would. He leans over the couch to look at it properly and Jane, pleased by the compliment, starts to talk to him about it.

Ten minutes later Sisky stretches and raises his eyebrows at Mike. “Come make me feel less like a social pariah,” he says. 

Mike doesn’t understand but he follows anyway. Sisky goes outside, to where the LA sun is high in the sky, and lights a cigarette. 

“Ohhhh,” Mike says. “That kind of social pariah.”

“Right?” Sisky inhales. Mike watches for the exact moment the tobacco hits. Sisky grins. “You can share, I won’t tell.”

“I kind of think Sarah might notice.”

“Pfft.” Sisky laughs. Mike’s pretty sure he’s had some of the weed the Butcher’s been smoking. Was one of them anxious about this? Or both of them, maybe. Maybe that wasn’t it at all. 

There was a time when he would have known. Mike often felt like he knew Sisky better than anyone else in the world. It was partly that they were close, partly that Sisky was so young, too, but it was also the way Sisky wore every emotion on his face. Until he didn’t, until Sisky kept things from Mike and vice versa, and everything had just ended up screwed. 

If Mike could have a do over, he would a hundred percent make sure Sisky came out of things unscathed.

“What?” Sisky says, frowning.

“Nothing,” Mike says, shaking his head. “Sorry, man. Are you okay?”

“I am now,” Sisky says, and although Mike thinks he means just the nicotine, he wouldn’t entirely swear to it. 

*

All too soon it’s show time. Mike and Sarah watched a lot of Hope Springs Eternal’s set; they were pretty good, they managed to hype the crowd up. Mike has had three beers and is having no more. He takes a bottle of water with him on stage. As soon as they all step on there’s a roar from the crowd.

Mike raises his hand in greeting, which elicits a noise of approval. 

“Hello LA!” Bill says exuberantly into the mic. “Fuck is it good to see you!” 

A true showman to the end, Mike thinks, eyes on his auto tuner. He looks at Butcher, who smiles at him, clearly still a little buzzed. 

“Are you ready?” Bill says into the mic, and in reply Butcher starts the first song, drums crashing in to everyone’s monitors just right. 

It’s better than Mike thought it would go. They play ten songs, step offstage for a quick breather and hugs all round, including from Sarah, and then go back to play the final two songs. It’s sweaty and noisy and exhilarating. Mike misses it, when it was like this it’s the best job in the world and he’s missed it. He steps off stage sweating and in need of more water. 

*

“Hey listen,” Bill says quietly half an hour later, sidling up to Mike while Mike is bending over the fridge trying to find a cold beer. “Could we ask Jane to manage us in Europe?”

“Tony can’t do it?”

“Tony has prior engagements,” Bill says, eyes not resting on Mike or on anything else. 

Mike offers him a beer and then pulls his keys from his pocket to pop the caps for both of them. “I mean, sure, I think she’d love it?”

“But it would be okay with you?”

“Yes.”

“I like her a lot, Mike, she’s good people.”

“She’s the best.” 

“Where did you meet her?”

“College. We were gym buddies.”

Bill grins suddenly. “That’s cute.”

“Thanks, I think?” Mike swallows some beer, nodding.

“So we can ask her?”

“Sure,” Mike nods.

“Hey, Jane,” Bill says, turning.

“I didn’t think you meant, like, right now?” Mike hisses, but it’s too late.

“Yes?” Jane asks. She turns to them from her seat on the sofa, smiling pleasantly.

“Well, Mike and I would like to know if you would be free to come on tour with us, to manage us?” Bill says, his voice a little high and anxious. 

“In England and Europe?” Jane asks.

Bill nods at her.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Mike says. “It’s perfectly acceptable to say no.”

“Why can’t Tony do it?” Butcher asks.

“I’m busy,” Tony cuts in. “I would’ve, but I’m already booked. Sorry guys.”

“Huh,” Butcher says, echoing what Mike’s thinking, because –

No, it’s okay. Tony went through things as much as anyone else did. Mike has learnt to let go of a lot of things over the past few years, so he turns “Tony” over in his mind and then lets it go. Tony doesn’t owe them an explanation or an apology. Plus, if Jane says yes it’ll be pretty cool to travel with her. 

“What would I have to do?” Jane asks. 

“Manage the tour,” Bill says. “Basically, make sure everyone’s where they should be, keep hold of the tickets and the money and the passports. Liaise with the venues, give our rider and make sure everything’s okay… Wake everyone up, tell the roadies when they need to unload and load in, keep track of the merch… It’s complicated, but not that complicated?”

“You’d be good at it,” Mike says. “You’re way organised. You could make spreadsheets.”

“Fuck you,” Jane says good-naturedly. She grins. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Bill says.

“It would be cool,” Sisky says. “You could ask Tony if you have any questions.”

“Sure,” Tony says. He pulls his wallet out and hands her his business card. 

“Let me give you my details too,” Bill says. “If you decide to do it.” He pulls out a card too. Mike plucks it out of his fingers before he hands it over. It’s a pretty fancy card – dark gray with white writing and Bill’s trademark ampersand in shadow on the background. 

“Nice,” Mike says, and feels the smile Bill gives him more than he sees it. 

“You keep that one,” Bill says, and shuffles out another to hand over to Jane.

Four days later Mike checks his emails he has one from Jane, sent to both Bill and himself.

‘I think I’m in,’ it says. ‘I definitely need a contract and some idea of pay, because I’ll have to take some time unpaid from work. But, I think it’s an adventure I don’t want to miss out on. Jane xx’ 

They play a warm up show in Chicago and then one in Milwaukee, and everyone says they sound great and everyone seems happy and Mike, Mike feels happy about it too. 

*

Mike hops down off the bus in Berlin and stretches. The sky is a gorgeous blue, with no clouds at all. The sun is still low in the sky, and pretty weak, but the heat feels good on Mike’s face. He has no place to be, so he leans against the wall the bus is parked near and tips his head back to the sun. If he still smoked, this is when he would light up and blow smoke rings at the sky.

“It was a bright, cold day in April and the clocks were striking thirteen,” a voice says from beside him. It’s Bill. “That’s from 1984.”

“I know it’s from 1984, _William_ ,” Mike says, turning. He eyes his companion and decides to tease. “Some of us even have college educations these days.”

Bill barks a laugh in surprise. “I deserved that.”

“Yes you did,” Mike nods.

“Did you enjoy college?”

“I did.” Mike’s fingers itch at the lack of a cigarette so he pretends to play the chords to Bulls in Brooklyn instead. “Freshman year was kinda weird, you know, because of the age difference? So I became a resident advisor for sophomore onwards.”

“I didn’t know that.” Bill turns towards Mike, his hip angled against the wall. “I can imagine you’d be good at that.”

“Thank you. I mostly liked it?”

“Dealing with everyone else’s shit is definitely a life skill, Mike.”

“You’re such a ham,” Mike says, but there’s no malice in it. 

Bill laughs again. It seems to Mike like he laughs a lot more easily these days, like there isn’t any tightness behind it. Mike smiles at him. 

“It’s true,” Bill says.

“Come to LA,” Mike says, the words escaping before he’s really had chance to think about it. “You and Christine and Evie.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. We’d love to have you. We have room, yeah. Nothing fancy but enough space for you all.”

“Alright.”

“I mean it.” Mike straightens up a little. Bill’s wearing sunglasses so it’s hard to see his eyes, but Mike tries anyway. “Seriously. Come in the summer and we’ll hit up the beach, play tourist a little…”

“I already said yes,” Bill says gently. “I mean it too.”

*

They play eleven dates in all, cooped up on busses and in green rooms, and while there they write a song, the five of them all together. They have two copies of some words Bill has written, and Butcher keeps time while Chiz does whatever magic he does over Mike playing the melody that Bill’s singing. 

“Fuck yeah,” Sisky says when it’s halfway to being an _actual song_ , and everyone smiles so wide. 

Mike doesn’t think they’ve ever written a song where someone didn’t throw something and someone else didn’t storm out and Bill didn’t call every one fucking dicks. 

Mike, for his part, didn’t tell anyone to eat shit and die so he can probably consider himself a grown up now.

It’s been good. A good interlude to Mike’s real life, a fun adventure with four old friends and Jane, a newer friend, who is in her element as he’d known she would be. She keeps everything tight, liaising perfectly with FOB’s tour manager, who says she could make a career of it if she wanted to. Jane glows at this; Mike wonders if she will. 

It’s been good but an interlude is all it is. He wants to go home, back to work, back to Sarah, back to life. 

*

The last tour date is in Brussels. Mike had a hotel room to himself last night, so he’s feeling pretty good about life. What’s more, it turned out they were three blocks away from a gym, so Mike had hit up H&M for some cheap swimming stuff and had paid his way into the gym to the bemusement of the guy on the reception desk, and had then swum a hundred lengths, taking it easy at first and then pushing himself into faster laps. Today his body aches, but in a good way. 

“This sucks,” Sisky says at breakfast when Mike falls in line behind him and the Butcher. 

“What sucks?” Mike asks, surprised. 

Sisky pushes his bottom lip out. “I don’t wanna go back to my regular life, Mike Carden. I wanna stay on tour with you and Bill and Chizzy forever.”

“And me,” Butcher says, spooning cornflakes into a bowl.

“You’re always around anyway,” Sisky says. “Those other ones aren’t.”

“Harsh,” Butcher says, and pours almond milk into his bowl before walking off to find a table.

“Man,” Sisky says. “This whole tour, yeah, I feel like whatever I say, it’s the wrong thing.”

“Is he mad or something?”

“Or something,” Sisky nods. “I’m only here because he wanted to do it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… That sounds like I didn’t want to.” Sisky loads up a plate with cheese and bread. “I did want to. But it means I’ve used up all my paid vacation time, right? Which kind of sucks, because it doesn’t reset until next January.” He passes Mike a plate and Mike takes some cheese and some salami. “You all have schedules that are freer than mine, okay? That’s all.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sisky Business.”

“Okay, but I do want to. It’s been fun, right? It’s been like the old days, and it’s been total freedom from all responsibilities…”

“But you like your responsibilities.”

“I do.” Sisky nods. “I really do. If I was single, I wouldn’t have come. I’d have told you to find some other bass player.”

“I wouldn’t have done it without you,” Mike says, heading over towards where the Butcher and Chizzy are sitting. “Just so you know.” He takes an apple from the end of the buffet counter. 

“No, I know. So, we’d all be out, or something. But Butcher…”

“He needed it more than you did.”

“Yes! That’s exactly it!” Sisky pushes his glasses up his nose and beams at Mike. “Thank you. For getting it.”

“Any time.” Mike slides into a seat next to Chiz. “Good morning Australia.”

“Good morning LA. Listen, Naomi wants to bring the kids over to LA to meet up with some old friends. Butch, too, probably. And you.”

“And us,” Mike nods. “You know, I invited Bill and the girls over just a few days ago. If you timed it right…”

“Mini reunion!” Chiz laughs. “Cool, we can set that up.” He programmes something into the reminders function on his phone. Mike has never seen someone so dedicated to their reminders function. 

“We could come,” Butcher says, not looking up at anyone. “Couldn’t we?”

“Of course,” Chiz grins.

“So next year,” Mike says. “When Sisky has vacation days again.”

Sisky smiles at him gratefully, but Butcher won’t meet his eyes. 

*

The mood backstage is a little subdued. Not for Fall Out Boy, who are all giddy at the thought of going home because they know they’re going to Japan in ten days. Part of Mike wishes he was going to Japan in ten days too, but it’s a smaller part than he might have imagined it would be. 

If it was a bigger part of him, or even the majority of himself, would he be making plans with Bill to keep the band going? Would he be considering moving back to the Midwest? He looks up at Bill, who’s sitting cross legged on a sofa scribbling furiously into a notebook, oblivious to the world around him. Mike might be considering it, he thinks, if things were different.

But, the majority part of him can’t wait to get home to Sarah and the dog, to have the freedom to do what he wants, to not have to be in some place at some time, to not have to travel in cramped busses and sleep in uncomfortable bunks and strange hotels. Sisky said that thing about being freer from responsibilities, but Mike never felt like that on tour. Sure, he wasn’t working a nine to five but that didn’t mean he was free. He’s conflicted. He will miss this, but he’s not unhappy about losing it again.

Chiz doesn’t seem subdued. He’s heading home for a week before going back on tour, but that’s just his life, that’s just Chiz. He could always find himself a home wherever he was, and right now he’s slouched on the couch next to Bill, so far down he’s almost horizontal, the fingers of one hand splaying a book open. He feels Mike’s eyes on him and smiles. “Alright?”

“Hundred percent,” Mike says, nodding. 

Sisky and the Butcher are in close conversation, murmuring to each other. Is it their vibe bringing Mike down? He thinks again about breakfast, about Sisky saying he felt like he couldn’t say anything right. Mike feels the same. Butcher is still somewhat angry with him and he’s out of ways to fix it. 

In a couple weeks, when they’re all less sleep deprived and feelings aren’t running so high, Mike will try to talk to him properly. Email, or something. Skype. He can do that. Will he remember? He should set a reminder, like Chiz. He laughs to himself and is rewarded by Chiz frowning at him which only makes him laugh more.

“Good joke?” Sisky asks, pulling his attention away from the Butcher.

“Nothing much,” Mike says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Butcher frowns, his mouth open like Sisky stopped him mid flow. He moves away, extracting his limbs from Sisky, and Sisky looks up, hurt written on his face. Mike feels guilty because this is his fault, he stopped their conversation and now Butcher’s even madder –

Butcher excuses himself quietly and walks off. Sisky says nothing but stares at his hands. Their tech Gav, a Scottish guy Mike really likes, comes over, realises it isn’t the moment, and walks away again. Bill looks up for the first time in ages, blinking from behind his glasses at Sisky. 

“It’s fine,” Sisky says, picking up the can of coke from by his feet. “I’ll give him a minute.”

“He’s way pissy,” Bill says, pushing his hair out of his face. “Can we help?”

“Nah,” Sisky says, smiling softly, smiling like he isn’t hurting. 

No one speaks. Chiz stays completely still, his fingers not turning in the book. Mike moves his foot and winces when his sneaker squeaks against the floor. 

Then Butcher comes back, stomping angrily, and stands in front of Sisky with his arms folded. Mike braces himself, waiting for the unleashing of whatever Butcher’s been bottling up.

But then he drops to one knee and says, “Sisk. Adam.”

Bill inhales audibly.

“We’ve gotta stop this, Adam.”

Sisky frowns and Mike wants to yell, _Not like that! He isn’t breaking up with you, idiot!_. 

“I want to make it right, honey,” Butcher says quietly. “I want us to get married.”

“Married,” Sisky says faintly. “Married?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Butcher says. “I know I can be a pain in the ass and I know you just want to go home and back to your regular life, but –”

“I like _our_ regular life,” Sisky says, and he looks kind of mad, but then he pulls Butcher towards him, toppling him, wrapping his arms around him. “Yes, you dumb fuck.”

“I had more,” Butcher says, muffled in Sisky’s shoulder. “I had more in my head than just ‘I want us to get married’.”

“I don’t need anything else,” Sisky says, and then they kiss, Sisky’s hands on Butcher’s face. 

“Oh god,” Bill drawls, but then he gets up and touches Sisky’s arm. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Sisky says wetly. 

Mike feels the prickle of tears in his throat too. He and Chiz join in the hug. Chiz laughs and Mike squeezes him. 

“We’re all invited, right?” Chiz asks innocently.

“It’s going to be the hugest musician wedding the Midwest has ever seen,” Sisky says happily from somewhere under everyone else.

Everyone else around notices the hug so Butcher stands up, hauls Sisky to his feet, and proudly tells everyone they’re engaged. Joe finds some cans of Sprite and they each take it in turns to pass it around and toast the happy couple. Sisky’s eyes are shining and Mike wants to bottle it so he can remember it forever. 

“There was a gay marriage proposal at my gig and I missed it?” Pete says when he hears about it. “Butcher, you fuck, you know I would’ve loved to see that shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Butcher says, and presses a kiss into Sisky’s hair. His eyes are shining so brightly and Mike’s pretty sure he hasn’t let go of Sisky in the twenty minutes since he proposed. “I’m gonna go to college,” he says to Sisky. “If that’s okay?”

Sisky nods. “You’re actually going to be an art therapist, finally?”

“I figure I should get to it before I turn forty, right?”

“Right,” Sisky laughs. “Well done, honey.”

“Congratulations for that too,” Mike says, shaking Butcher’s hand again. “A husband and a new career.”

“Sorry I’ve been an ass,” Butcher says. “My head’s been a mess.”

“It’s okay,” Mike says, and hugs him in. “We all get like that sometimes.”

It’s almost stage time. They all gather near the wings, shadows casting them all into grotesque caricatures of themselves. Bill smiles, his teeth flashing white in the gloom. 

“Promise me something,” he says, looking round at each of them. 

“Like what?” Chiz asks.

“We do this again in another ten years. It’s not over for us, right?”

Mike nods first. “Alright.”

“Alriiiiight,” Sisky says, drawling it out to sound Australian, like Chiz says it.

“You be careful,” Chiz says, wagging a finger at him. “Alright. I’m in.”


End file.
